Blankets and Other Relationship Truisms
by Lesera128
Summary: When an independent woman enters her first long-term relationship, there's bound to be a period of adjustment. A small vignette of one of Brennan's early trials and tribs with Booth. Set between 6x022&7x01. 2011 Bones Secret Santa. One-shot. Complete.


Blankets and Other Relationship Truisms

By: Lesera128

Rated: K+

Disclaimer: stares:: ::blinks:: ::stares again:: Yeah. I still don't own anything…but, you knew that from the stares, right?

Summary: When an independent woman enters her first long-term relationship, there's bound to be a period of adjustment. A small vignette from some of Brennan's early trials and tribulations with Booth. Set between 6x022 and 7x01. 2011 Bones Secret Santa. One-shot. Complete.

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><p>In the first weeks after Booth and I had sex for the first time, it wasn't quite clear what was happening to us. Okay, that's not quite accurate. We knew exactly what was happening and why, but we were content not to put a label on it in those first days. The grief I'd felt over the senseless loss over Mr. Nigel-Murray at the hands of Jacob Broadsky was still a bit too fresh, a bit too raw for me. In trying to juggle the reality of acting on my feelings for Booth, and the significance of his acting on his feelings for me, to let little things like labels bury us made no rational sense. So, for the first few weeks—but for one or two important exceptions among my friends at the lab (i.e., Angela)—we kept things to ourselves.<p>

However, when a bout of extreme fatigue coupled with a mild case of nausea sent me to my general physician's office, and a routine blood test reveled something infinitely more miraculous and wonderful than which strain of antibiotic I should take for a bacterial infection, Booth and I lost the luxury of not being able to define what we were to one another.

Suddenly, a clock was ticking on us and more than 1/9 of the total time in which we had to be ready as a couple before our progeny arrived had already elapsed. I didn't take that particular realization well. It wasn't that I wasn't ecstatic about the idea of being a mother—_finally_, particular considering the fact that Booth was my child's father—but, I disliked the rush of it all. I also disliked the fact that it took me so many weeks to realize that I was pregnant. I'm a scientist. I should've known to compensate for the excessive amounts of sex that Booth and I were having by taking a pregnancy test before I went to the doctor because I thought I was sick with the flu. I think the triteness of that particular detail also galled me because I'm many things and none of them has ever been described as trite. True, I hadn't missed a period yet when I went, but even still, I lost precious time that I would desperately need to prepare for the arrival of our child—time to prepare myself, time to prepare Booth, and time to logistically make decisions and preparations for the baby's actual physical coming. It was a lot to do, all in all, and even if I had the full nine months—assuming that the child wasn't premature—I still don't think it would have been enough time.

So, my frustration over feeling pressured because of the baby's impending arrival, combined with the myriad of significant life changes that had occurred for me in such a short period of time, with a mixture of pregnancy hormones, really only made it a matter of time before _something _happened. It was really just going to be a matter of when and how I snapped. Thus, I wasn't really surprised, in hindsight, when the metaphorical straw that broke the proverbial camel's back happened a little after three o'clock in the morning one night when Booth and I had stayed the evening at my apartment.

Now, I've never really understand the attraction of _that _particular euphemism—I mean…'the straw that broke the camel's back'? Setting aside the illogic of the image, most people don't even realize how difficult it is to fracture the spinal column of an even toed ungulate, given how much protective fat separates the animals skeletal structure from direct attack. Even creatures that are used as service animals would be difficult to 'break their backs' successfully. I mean, yes, such fractures can be done if enough weight is used to crush any such skeletal structure, but even still… I suppose I just need to go with the metaphorical aspect of this particularly saying and refocus my attention on why the fact that Booth is a blanket thief led to one of first issues that we needed to solve during the first phase of our early relationship in its official incarnation.

As I said, it was a little after three o'clock in the morning when I woke up. I'm a rather light sleeper for the most part…I always have been. One would think that for a trained military sniper, Booth would be a light sleeper as well. However, a little known fact is that when he's in a zone of comfort and trust, when he goes to sleep, he _really _goes to sleep. And, if he's consumed more than two beers before he enters said REM state, unfortunately for any bedmate that he has who isn't deaf, he tends to snore.

I've known this off and on about Booth for years, particularly since we've fallen asleep with each other in various casual circumstances during the tenure of our partnership—late at night when we were working on a case at his apartment or in my office…occasionally when we'd share a hotel room—and I use the term 'we' there rather pejoratively since Booth has made a nasty habit in recent years about 'crashing' my hotel room since he claims that I always have 'superior digs' to his—or, even more rarely, when he'd fall asleep when I'd be driving us back somewhere if he was too tired to fight me about driving himself. So, as I said, I've been well aware for quite a while that Booth _does_ snore on occasion.

But, on this particular night, I had little patience to deal with Booth's snoring—which was rather bad even for him given the fact that he'd consumed five Yuenglings while watching the extra-innings Phillies/Braves game before bed—particularly when it was combined with the fact that, as I'd only recently come to find out, that Booth was a blanket thief.

I should explain.

I'm very, very particular about my bedding. I actually four layers of bed linens on my queen pillow-top mattress at any given time. Of course, there's the heavy down comforter encased in a duvet (damask linen in the spring and summer months and velvet in the fall and winter months) that I usually leave at the foot of my bed unless it's the coldest of nights. Considering the fact that the average temperatures in D.C. in early June are in the high 80s and low 70s if there _isn't _a heat wave in progress, on that particular night the duvet was going to stay at the end of my bed. The second and third layer—quite common for everyone, as well as being a part of my own preferences—are the fitted and flat sheets. The last layer, and the one that was most confusing to Booth, was the fact that I had a light linen blanket that I used in lieu of the heavier duvet as my primary blanket when sleeping. Why he became rather attached to this particular blanket, given his confusion over its presence in my bedding repertoire, I still don't understand.

Now, before Booth, as I've never been in what I'd consider a serious long-term monogamous relationship, I was never in a position where I'd to regularly share my bedding with a partner. Every so often, one of them might sleep over, and I'd deal with the temporary invasion of my bedding's privacy. But, my relationship with Booth is now—quite thankfully, anything but temporary. So, I've had to get used to the fact that he's a blanket thief. To be quite honest, I don't understand that particular fact at all given the amount of natural body heat that man puts out on an hourly basis. He is a metaphorical furnace onto himself, which I'm quite certain I'll be very grateful for in the colder months of the fall and winter when such excessive body heat will make him an excellent cuddling companion. Now, while I'm certain that most people would never suspect that the very upstanding and honorable Special Agent Seeley Joseph Booth of the Federal Bureau of Investigation from being a two-bit thief, I can confirm with first-hand knowledge that he is. He steals blankets with no remorse, and for some reason, every time he sleeps in _my_ bed at _my_ apartment, he _always _steals _my_ blanket. Never the flat sheet or the duvet…no, just _my _blanket.

And, on that particular night, I'd had enough of the blanket thief's efforts to take what wasn't his for the last time. I'd had enough, and I was going to do something about it.

I knew as soon as I woke up cold that two things had occurred. First, Booth wasn't draped over me like normal, which I wouldn't have minded in this particular situation since I was freezing. Second, my blanket was gone. _Again_. After I glanced at the clock, and realized how much prime time there was remaining in which I could achieve another REM cycle if I had _my _optimum sleeping conditions realized, that was…and to get those conditions just right, I needed to be not cold. I needed, in two words—_my blanket._

Sitting up in bed, I turned to look at Booth where he lay on the opposite side of the bed. Under most other circumstances, the sight of his naked chest and relaxed face would be enough to melt most of my ire. However, as he lay on his side facing me—his muscular chest going up and down in measured breaths—the charm of his handsome visage was marred by the irksome snoring emitting from his person and the fact that _my blanket _was completely wrapped around his torso and lower legs.

"You're not even using it the right way," I couldn't help but mutter.

Reaching over, I grabbed his shoulder and gave him a rough shake. "Booth."

Fortunately, in that moment, the snoring stopped. But, Booth's warm brown eyes didn't open. Instead, his mouth twisted as his nose twitched. The movements were followed by a single unintelligible sound.

"_Mmmmpppggghhhh_," came the mumbled reply.

His answer incensed me even more. "Booth," I said again, although I didn't touch him the second time.

This time, the tone of my voice merely caused Booth to sigh slightly as he rolled over and turned away from me.

More than slightly annoyed, in that moment, as I stared at the broad expanse of his back, I suddenly felt a flash of annoyance transform into anger as I suddenly reached out with both hands and gave him a hard shove.

"Booth!"

I suppose from a certain perspective, the image of seeing Booth roll over the edge of the bed, taking my blanket with him, might've been funny—particularly when the next thing I saw was his head sticking up…hair wild and askew from sleep, blurry eyes blinking at me in grogginess, and brow furrowed in obvious confusion.

Still not awake, it was clear that Booth was trying to figure out how he'd ended up on the floor when the last thing he remembered was being horizontal and snuggled down in my nice and warm comfortable bed.

"What…happened?" he finally asked.

"You rolled out of bed," I said, crossing my arms in a clearly defensive pose.

"I-I…I what?" he blinked at me through a small yawn.

"You fell out of bed," I amended with a frown.

"Bones?" he blinked at me again, grogginess make him appear even more disarmingly cute.

And, in that moment, the damn pregnancy hormones got the better of me, and I started to feel my throat constrict, my chest get tight, and my eyes begin to water as my nose started to run. I wasn't really sure what was happening until Booth bounced up off the floor and came to sit on the bed next to me.

"Bones?" he asked, his voice soft and gentle. "What is it?"

"You were snoring," I said, sniffling slightly.

"I'm sorry," he said with a shake of his head, "I didn't mean to wake you up."

"And, you took my blanket," I couldn't help it as my sniffles started to get worse. "You stole my blanket again, Booth."

He stared at me for a few minutes, confusion clearly written on his face as he said, "Your blanket?"

"Yes!" I snapped. Pointing, I stared at the blanket, and in that moment, it was too much for me as I started to legitimately cry. "My blanket," I said through the sobs.

And, in that moment, Booth did exactly the one thing he could've done that was the perfect thing to do—he reached over, pulled me into his arms, and just held me.

"I'm sorry," he said, whispered it into my ear as he kept me close in his warm and strong embrace. As is often the case with pregnancy hormones, there was really nothing that either he or I could do as we waited for the crying to cease. He stroked my hair and whispered unintelligible reassuring comments in my ears as he rubbed my back in a comforting gesture. "I'm sorry," he kept repeating.

And, after a time, when my sobs eventually transitioned into light cries, and then occasional sniffles, I finally stopped.

Booth was still holding me, rubbing my back, and doing his best to comfort me. When I stopped shaking, he pulled away slightly and asked me with a tender smile, "Better?"

The back of my hand coming up to wipe away some lingering tears that still wet my cheeks, I slowly nodded. "Yes?"

"You sure?" he asked soothingly.

I nodded again. "Yes," I repeated, my tone growing a bit more confident. Then, tilting my head at him. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" he asked. "Crying?" Shaking his head lightly, he said, "That's not your fault, Bones."

"I know," I nodded at him. "I'm not apologizing about that."

"Then what are you apologizing for?" he asked, confusion clearly writ on his face.

"I…I-I…I sort of kicked you out of bed," I said, biting my lower lip in nervousness.

"Ahh," Booth nodded, a knowing look now coming over his face. "Well, that explains how I ended up on the floor, I guess."

"You stole my blanket," I said, the excuse sounding even somewhat lame to me in that moment.

"Wow," Booth said as he arched an eyebrow at me. "You're really attached to that blanket, huh?"

"I was cold," I said, my voice turning a bit sullen.

Reaching over, Booth took the blanket and wrapped it around me.

"Better?" he asked with that easy smile of his that can get me to do just about anything he wants.

"Yes," I nodded, letting the lingering scent of Booth's warmth from the blanket envelop me. Pulling me back into his arms, he said, "You ready to try to get back to sleep now, or what?"

I again nodded my head.

As we laid down, and he pulled me into a comfortable position so that I was laying draped over his broad chest, my blanket around me, I said, "Booth?"

"Hmmm, Bones?" he responded.

"We need to go buy you your own blanket tomorrow," I murmured as I snuggled against him.

"Will that make you feel better?" he asked in a low and quiet voice.

"Yes," I mumbled. "I find that I can share a lot of things with you, but I want my own blanket."

And, in the true art of compromise, he smiled as he leaned his head down and placed a gentle kiss on the top of my head, still not certain what the big deal about the blanket was to me exactly. "Okay, Bones. No problem."

Smiling, I said, "I love you, Booth."

"Love you, too, Bones."

And, that was how we solved one of the rather major, but clearly inane, bumps in our early relationship in a rather anticlimactic way. But, looking back, I don't think I'd have it any other way.

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><p><span>~The End~<span>

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><p><span>Author's Note<span>: This piece was written for eitoph's wish list for the 2011 Bones Secret Santa exchange. The wish list request asked for a Booth & Brennan piece that was from the missing period between seasons 6 & 7 and had a focus that was related to the building of the B&B relationship. So, there we have it. Hopefully, what my twisted muse came up with was hopefully satisfactory. A belated Merry Christmas, Joyous Saturnalia, and/or Happy Holidays!~


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